You grew up in Zayn’s house. His mom, Trisha, was like your mom. They took you in after your parents who were really good friends with his parents passed in a car accident. But Zayn made up for it. He was the big brother you never had. You enjoyed staying up late, hearing him share music he was working on with his band, but missed him whenever he left for shows

Everything was good until the world saw more of Zayn than you did. You missed his laugh, his voice. You didn’t see him until he quit the band. You were in bed until you heard the honk of the car you couldn’t miss, Zayn’s. You crept downstairs to see him in the doorway, duffle bags hung on his shoulder. He closed the door and looked at you

“Hey.” He said tiredly